Finney Thayer

By Finney Thayer of The Pathfinder

January 19, 2026

I refuse to be constrained by gender binaries and societal norms.

After all, that would leave me a dull, shapeless form.

Maybe I can truly be free to be me,

And one, my heart, my soul will be.

Though I will get odd looks, judgemental sneers, and piercing stares,

I will be no worse for wear.

Grieving for the loss of a daughter, they say;

Even so, I cannot stay.

Rather, I must fly free as a bird to explore this world, finally rid of the shackles

holding me back.

By Finney Thayer of The Pathfinder

January 19, 2026

Why are they constricted

To choosing between blue and pink?

What if those colors don’t match their paintings?

Instead, it hides the true hues of their soul.

A tangled web of bright shades exists,

If one were to strip away the unneeded top layer.

It suffocates their creativity.

Forcing them to conform,

To fall between the lines,

Never straying out

And exploring what is different.

However, that outside wall begins to crack;

Pieces, brightly colored chips, flutter away,

Gentle hands help peel them back.

They open their eyes to a whole new world,

Vibrant hues kiss their skin,

Hugging, embracing them.

Their life,

No longer controlled by this or that,

Has opened up beyond the binary.

A whole palette of colors is available

For them to use on their painting.

By Finney Thayer of The Pathfinder

March 23, 2026

Tho I know not where I go,

My heart tells me to follow the road.

Floating petals and gentle winds

Carry the longings of my soul.

Sweet honey flows from their lips,

Bringing the promise of something anew.

Colorful flowers swaying catches my eye,

Reminding me of a time apast .

My being cries out

As we grow apart.

Fate destined us to meet at the crossroads

Before cruelly tearing us in two,

Ripping my heart in twain.

Who will stitch me back together?

By Finney Thayer of The Pathfinder

March 13, 2026

I sat there and watched, dismayed,

As they all are passed bright pink or dark blue paint.

Poised princesses and battle-scarred heroines

Are etched upon the canvases.

Every stroke in sync;

A hive surrounds me thus.

My eyes gaze down mournfully upon the pink-filled jar,

It sits there,

Staring at me,

Judging me,

Taunting me,

For not being like the rest.

My heart can no longer take it,

I reach out and swipe a jar of navy blue.

Taking a deep breath,

I mix and match the two on my palette.

They swirl,

Dancing with one another.

A new color is created,

One that has no name,

Yet it fills the void in my soul.

I am finally complete.